


The Drarry Situation

by sacheland



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Humor, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 19:47:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7858744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sacheland/pseuds/sacheland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knew Harry was in love with Malfoy, except for Harry himself.</p><p>Good thing that was, because they had five years since the first time Harry met Malfoy to prepare for their inevitable union.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Drarry Situation

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this [post](http://a-feminist-fangirl.tumblr.com/post/147853350740/if-harry-kissed-draco-instead-of-cho-that-day) because it’s super cute I can’t help but want a fic.

“Harry, mate, stop looking that way.” Harry vaguely heard Ron said.

However, Harry was too busy to pay any attention. Green eyes trained on the back of the blond head on Slytherin table across the Great Hall. Draco Malfoy looked particularly fatigued this morning. Well, he still had his arrogant stance, chin up as he stared down his minions. But ever since the start of the fifth year, Harry noticed Malfoy had a slight slump on his shoulder, eyes tense and tight on the edge and his mouth curled downward. Even his usual meticulous hair had unruly strands sweeping over the side of his face—making his cheekbones more pronounced and Harry had to admit Malfoy seemed more mature—

No, Harry shook his head. He did not just think that way about Malfoy. The blond was a git, and Harry was just wary about whatever plot Malfoy was thinking at this moment.

“Malfoy is planning something,” he said as he absentmindedly nibbled on toast.

“Oh, is he really?” Ron mumbled with a mouth full.

“Ronald!” Hermione reprimanded. Nose scrunched up in disgust at his manner.

“I’m sure of it,” Harry said. Then his eyes drifted back to the Slytherin table where Malfoy was sipping his tea—two cubes of sugar and no milk—while watching Parkinson and Zabini bickering over the table.

He paid no heed of the silent conversation involving horrified wide eyes and flailing limbs from Ron, and a kick or two to Ron’s feet under the table courtesy of the scowling Hermione.

 

Sometimes Harry couldn’t believe his luck. Why did he have to share his most hated subject with his most hated Professor—although Umbridge was tied with Snape at this point—with Slytherins for five years straight?

Glumly, he sat beside Malfoy, his partner in Potions for the year—or five years, since Snape always made sure Harry suffered from Malfoy as a partner. He found most of his friends were in the same situation—except for Hermione and Parkinson who seemed cordial enough to work together. Neville’s eyes were wide—terrified of being partnered with Nott. While Ron and Zabini looked seconds away from tearing each other’s head.

“Potter, stop stirring!” Malfoy forcefully grabbed the ladle from his hand and bent to look at the cauldron. “It’s seven stirrings clockwise not eight. Honestly, Potter, you’re useless even at stirring. Thank Merlin this potion is salvageable.”

Harry wanted to protest but he had to admit it was true. He was hopeless at Potions, and he only had good marks if he was partnered with Hermione or Malfoy—whom were the best in class. Sighing, Malfoy put peppermint and chopped valerian in Dreamless Sleep Potion. Usually, Harry had always been the one who diced, chopped, and did the menial labour. Today, however, Malfoy ushered him to be the one stirring the potions while he did Harry’s usual work. It was strange, but Harry felt secretly grateful. The back of his hand was still sore from Umbridge’s detention—even after it was dipped in Murtlap Essence the night before.

Stroking the back of his hand to sooth the lingering pain, Harry watched Malfoy pursed his lips. Brows furrowing in concentration as he stirred the ladle—sometimes putting other ingredients in the cauldron. The white blond locks were translucent in the dark of the dungeon and it was annoying to see the unruly strands—Harry wanted to sweep them behind Malfoy’s ears.

“The potion is done,” Malfoy said, startling Harry from his musing.

Malfoy was right, the potion was purple just like described in the book. One good mark in potions, Harry let out a relieved sigh though he was still worried that Snape would mark him down. Looking around, only Hermione and Parkinson had finished their work—both currently ignored each other to read their own books. Ron and Zabini were bickering over their green and bubbling cauldron.

Suddenly, an explosion sent orange coloured goo all over the classroom. Neville squeaked and Nott looked positively murderous with the orange goo covering both of them.

Uproarious laughter broke in the classroom. Seamus banged his hand to the desk—almost upturned his own cauldron, while Greengrass flicked the goo from her hair in both disgusted expression and amusement.

That was, until Snape bellowed from his desk, “You absolute fools!”

And the class froze in terror.

 

“Harry, Padma asked me in Ancient Runes about our next meeting,” Hermione said briskly, fingers impatiently brushed her hair from the wind.

Harry hummed, thinking for the right time for Dumbledore’s Army meeting. They had to be careful since they couldn’t afford Umbridge to get suspicious. “How about Wednesday night?”

“I’ll inform them later.”

He nodded. They were walking from the castle for Care of Magical Creatures with Professor Grubbly-Plank. It was quite a windy day and Harry wished he could back to the Common Room to sit in front of the fireplace. Before them, students were also huddled in their robes from cold. A stark blond hair between Slytherin students caught his attention, and Harry bit his lip in uncertainty.

“Hermione...” He started to say, “Do you think Malfoy is a bit different this year?”

Ron choked beside him but Hermione just smiled. “He is, isn’t he?”

“Yeah...” Malfoy changed a lot. Although he still taunted them, Harry could feel those taunts didn’t have the usual heat. He’d never say anything when Harry kept saying Voldemort was alive—even though everyone else would laugh at him. Luna even said Malfoy let Padma and her go after DA meeting last week when he patrolled—and Parvati swore someone polyjuiced into Malfoy that night. To the surprise of everyone, Malfoy didn’t abuse his Prefect badge—unless he was in front of his minions.

Well, Malfoy might be a little bit different, but he was still a git through and through.

However, it was the letters that Harry noticed the most. Every week Malfoy always got a packet from home, which he usually opened with splendour. Showing off expensive chocolates and such to his friends. Nowadays, while Malfoy still a show-off, but Harry could feel he was just pretending. Harry had known him for five years, he could see the pinched expression on his face when he read the letters—how he tensed and his grip turned knuckle-white.

Harry had to wonder why that so. He remembered months ago, Lucius Malfoy in the graveyard along with fellow Death Eaters as Voldemort arose. Malfoy—Draco—should have been happy since Voldemort was alive. Instead, Malfoy looked uncertain and agitated. He didn’t know what that was about.

“Have you talk with Padfoot about this?” Hermione asked.

“Do you think I should?”

She nodded. “I have to admit his behaviour is strange.”

“Do we really have to?” Ron whined.

Hermione turned her head with a fond expression. “Yes, Ron.”

Harry rolled her eyes. Sometimes he couldn’t believe how blind Ron and Hermione—no matter how smart she was—about each other’s feelings. They had been dancing around  _for years_. Maybe one of these days he should just force them to kiss and be done with it.

Didn’t want to see the love-struck expressions on his mates’ faces, Harry glanced at the blond Slytherin. If even Hermione said the same, it meant his instinct was probably right. Maybe Malfoy wasn’t quite in agreement with his family about Voldemort. And if that so...

“Mate, stop looking like that.” Ron shook his shoulder with a stricken expression.

He frowned. “Look like what?”

“Like—like that!” The redhead pointed his finger from him to the Slytherins. “For all the people in the world, just why?” He mumbled to his palm, and Hermione giggled.

Harry didn’t understand them sometimes.

 

He stabbed the steak with utmost satisfaction, pretending it was that—that git with the bimbo hanging on his arm since breakfast. Tearing the meat between his teeth in a brutal way that Ron—who had the worst table manners—felt quite disturbed.

Still, Ron barrelled stubbornly. “Harry, Cho looks very pretty, isn’t she? I think she fancies you, I mean she keeps asking you to help her in DA.” He continues, brandishing his fork. “Maybe you should ask her to Hogsmead.”

Harry didn’t reply. He chugged the pumpkin juice and discreetly glanced behind, where Malfoy sat with Parkinson practically on his lap. The blond ate calmly, occasionally nodding to whatever his friends said. While his shoulders were still taut, right now Harry didn’t care because the git had—Harry bitterly thought— _someone_. It reminded him of how empty his love life was.

Annoying. Harry sliced the potato wedges angrily. Here he was, worried about—maybe not worried but just wanted more ally in the war ahead—Draco  _sodding_ Malfoy. He had asked Sirius of what he thought about that matter, and to his surprise, Sirius seemed concerned. Padfoot told him to approach the blond, just to see if Hermione and his speculation was right. Then Sirius wrote that he loved Harry no matter what—or who—happened.

Harry was touched, though he didn’t understand what Sirius meant.

“Hermione!” Ron tried to get her attention, but the girl was too buried deep in her tome and Ron groaned in despair.

Beside him, Neville finally looked up from his plate. “Harry, can you pass me the pumpkin juice, please?”

Banging his utensils on his plate, Harry put the pitcher near Neville—almost spilling pumpkin juice all over the table. Calmly, as if he didn’t just spook his friends, Harry proceed to tear the steak apart with fork and knife and glares.

“What happened?” Dean asked, warily looking at Harry. Around him, Gryffindors leaned to see Harry dissecting his meal in horrified fascination.

Ron gave them a pointed look. “ _The Drarry Situation_ ,” he said grimly.

Over the table, everyone nodded in understanding. Some looking at Harry in pity, while some glancing at the table farthest from them in curiosity.

“Do you need help?” Lee Jordan offered. “The twins and I could do something about it.” Fred and George whooped in agreement, matching grins on their faces.

“Me too! We can help!” Lavender giggled.

Parvati nodded, smiling. “Yeah, like in that book,  _In the Alcove with You and Our Cauldron_.”

Ron shook his head frantically. “Please don’t.”

Another bang from a glass to the table startled them. “Someone please pass me the treacle tart,” Harry said at last and different people put three plates of treacle tarts in front of him.

The rest of the lunch passed in silence—unusual for Gryffindors—as they watched Harry savagely demolishing treacle tarts.

 

“Harry, we need to talk to you about something,” Hermione said primly.

The dark haired looked up from the Marauder’s Map to the sight of Hermione and Ron—who had a resigned expression—sitting on the chair before him. Frowning, Harry put the map on the table. “What is it?”

“You know that we both love you, right?” Hermione smiled kindly.

Harry blinked, then a soft smile rose on his face. “Sure, me too.”

“It doesn’t matter what—or  _who_ —you do,” Ron started to say until he realized what he said. “Oh Merlin, I can’t believe I just said  _that_.” The redhead groaned and Hermione elbowed him. “The point is, you’ll always be our mate no matter what happened.”

Hermione took his hand. “Please remember that, Harry. No matter what, we will always love you.”

Harry gulped, feeling his chest choked with emotion. He gripped Hermione’s hand back in reassurance. “Thank you. I love you both too no matter what.”

“We know,” they replied simultaneously.

Smiling at each other, sometimes Harry couldn’t believe his luck. When he was young, he didn’t have any friend. Always treated as a freak. Now, while his life might be a series of life-and-death situations, but he always had Ron and Hermione to count on. He also had Sirius, the Weasleys, members in the Order of The Phoenix and Dumbledore Army’s. Voldemort might be at large and Fudge was still in denial, but Harry had hoped.

Moving footsteps on the map caught his attention. Draco Malfoy left his friends in the Slytherin Common Room to get outside. Quickly, Harry grabbed his map and an invisible cloak. “I’m going to catch Malfoy.”

“Catching Malfoy, alright,” Ron muttered.

“Hush, Ron.”

“I felt like my son is leaving for a git—“ He heard Ron said but Harry wasn’t sure. He had already opened the portrait under his cloak and out in the castle halls.

 

Harry was checking the Marauder’s Map in the Room of Requirement after DA when his eyes caught someone in the Astronomy Tower.

“Harry?” Ginny tapped his shoulder.

“Oh, sorry Ginny.” Harry looked up from his Map. “The way to Hufflepuff is clear, just be careful of Mr Filch on the third floor.”

Hannah Abbott and Ernie Macmillan said goodbye and Merry Christmas to the rest of DA members. While Zachariah Smith just went out the door without looking back. Lavender Brown and the Patil twins seemed peeved by his rude behaviour.

“Arsehole,” Ginny muttered and Harry snorted in agreement.

He checked the map again, and Malfoy was still in Astronomy Tower. Harry wondered what he was doing there. “Ravenclaw is also clear.”

In pairs, the Ravenclaws and the rest of the Hufflepuffs emptied the room. All in good mood after practice and the promise of the holiday tomorrow.

Luna walked as if she was dancing. “Goodnight everyone, and Merry Christmas,” she said in her dreamy tone, “And Harry, there are nargles all over your head.”

Harry grinned. “Goodnight and Merry Christmas to you too, Luna.”

She smiled, then followed her fellow Ravenclaws.

“Well, it’s time for Gryffindors to leave.” Ron stretched and yawned loudly. He peeked behind Harry’s shoulder. “Why are you looking at that part of the castle? That's Astronomy Tower, Gryffindor is on the other—oh.” He coughed to his fist, and Ginny tried to look at the map in curiosity. “Well you can—I mean, just let the Gryffindors back first, okay?”

Gryffindors kept glancing at Harry and Ron—who had gone green to pale then red—in confusion and amusement as they went outside. Fred even asked loudly, “Ickle Ronniekins, what’s got your knickers in a twist?”

Ron glared in response.

Ginny bounced on her heels. “Let’s go back, brothers of mine.” She grabbed the wrists of Fred and George. “There’s only one thing to make Ron looked like that—especially with Harry is focused on his map, isn’t it?” Their laughter stopped to be heard when the door closed.

Hermione turned her head to the two remaining Gryffindors. “What is it, Harry?”

“Malfoy is in Astronomy Tower.”

“Do you want to meet him?” Hermione tentatively asked. Both of them looked at her. “I mean, it must have been awful for him, to go back home when he’s in disagreement with his family.”

Disagreement was a mild word. After Harry caught up to Malfoy, he tried to convince him to get help from Dumbledore. Surprisingly, it worked. Malfoy didn’t trust Dumbledore, it was clear. But he was in a bind because he didn’t want to be Voldemort’s follower either, in the opposite of his family. Afterwards, Harry suggested Malfoy be in correspondence with Tonks, his cousin from his Mother’s side. While he was disgruntled at first, but Tonks seemed to have helped Malfoy a lot. Nowadays, Harry could see the how more relaxed Malfoy was every time he got Tonks cryptic letters.

Still, Malfoy hadn’t said anything to his family about his opposition, kept on pretending to agree with their views. However, tomorrow was the holiday and Malfoy had to go back to his manor, possibly to the place the Death Eaters gathered.

If it was a choice to have a Christmas with Death Eaters or Private Drive, Harry would definitely choose Private Drive.

“Death Eaters’ Christmas party would be grand,” Ron shuddered.

“Let’s go.” Hermione opened the door for them. “Ron and I will be waiting in the Common Room, okay?”

Harry nodded and they parted ways.

 

He didn’t know what he should do. He could hear muffled sobs behind the closed door of Astronomy Tower. Should he get inside and—he couldn’t believe to think this way—try to comfort Malfoy? Or should he just go back to Ron and Hermione, after all knowing Malfoy’s pride, he wouldn’t want anyone to see him cry—especially Harry. He wished Tonks were there to be with Malfoy instead.

But Tonks wasn’t there. And Harry remembered days in Private Drive, crying in the cupboard from loneliness. Because it must have been what Malfoy was feeling right now, to be alone and uncertain about his future and his family’s.

Gathering his Gryffindor courage, Harry opened the door.

Standing before the windows were Malfoy. His black robes in contrast with his white-blond hair. He turned to face him, expression dark and only the glint from the moonlight on his eyes showed Malfoy had been crying. “What are you doing here, Potter?”

“You’ve been crying,” Harry blurted out and almost winced at his own words.

He glared angrily. “Do you come here just to gloat on my face?” He strode closer. “Go away, Potter. Or I would escort you to Umbridge herself for being out of your sodding tower.”

Harry wouldn’t let Malfoy get under his skin. “You could, but you wouldn’t.” Malfoy looked positively murderous by this point. “Because you hate her just as much as I do, and it’s not me you’re angry with right now.” Well, Harry hoped so. “What did Tonks say about you back to your home?”

“That’s none of your business!” Malfoy hissed.

“It is when my friends are in danger. You know a lot about  _them_ now, what if you decide to hand them on a silver plate to Volde—“

Malfoy swung his fist, but Harry successfully ducked his head.

“Shut up, Potter!” The blond clenched his fists. “I won’t—Tonks—“ Malfoy slumped. “She is my family too.”

Harry felt relieved to hear his whisper. While he knew Tonks could take care of herself, but he’d been worried. Malfoy had been their enemies for the most part of the school. “Sorry, just had to make sure.”

“Make sure I’m not a traitor?” He retorted scathingly. “I already am a traitor for my family.”

The blond looked defeated, as if he’d been strung so tight and a slight pull would rip him apart. “Malfoy... Will you be alright?” It was a stupid question, Harry knew the answer would be no. However...

“Well, let’s see if they would send me back to Hogwarts in a casket.” Malfoy shrugged. “Just don’t dance upon my grave, would you? I don’t want to see such unsightly behaviour even in the afterlife.”

“I can’t dance.”

He gaped incredulously. “That’s your response?  _That you can’t dance_?”

The dark-haired grinned. “Just make sure you don’t die, then. No one needs to see me dance, after all.”

“You—“ Malfoy let out a chuckle then turned into full-blown laughter. A small part of his mind was worried if anyone would hear them, but a bigger part was too captivated by the sound. He didn’t think he’d ever heard Malfoy’s genuine laugh since the start of the year, and Harry almost kind of missed it. “You really are something, aren’t you Saint Potter.”

The way he spat out his name was funny, because it wasn’t meant to be an insult, Harry realized. Malfoy really found him amusing—as strange as it was.

“Sod off, Malfoy.”

Those eyes were really grey, Harry thought when Malfoy leaned in closer. Stormy from emotions, but they also seemed lighter—not as dark as before—and Harry felt grateful. There were tear tracks on his cheeks, and those pale hands were warm—cupping Harry’s jaw as the blond loomed before him. His glasses were askew when soft brush touched his lips. Slightly chapped, warm and wet—tasted like tears. Harry breathed slowly when the kiss deepened.  _Oh._

Harry didn’t remember how he managed to get into the Gryffindor Common Room, then sat on the chair beside Ron and Hermione. “Draco and I kissed.”

Ron spat out his Butterbeer.

Hermione stopped writing on the parchment. “So, how was it?”

“Awful I bet.” Ron wiped his chin. “I mean, this is Malfoy.”

Hermione frowned. “Ron, I’m sure Harry’s kissing was perfectly enjoyable. Well, to a certain extent.” She turned her head. “But seriously Harry, how was it?”

The dark-haired still remembered the firm body against his, the warmth from his breaths and the sliver of the tongue inside his mouth. “...Wet. He was crying.”

Ron snorted. “I know I said awful, but I didn’t know it would be—“

He was interrupted by the smack of the pillow courtesy of Hermione. “Don’t you know how Malfoy must be feeling?” Ron just shot her blank looks and Hermione sighed. “He’s just started rebelling against his parents, so he must be feeling conflicted about joining the Order. Confused about liking Harry, and the fact he might be gay. Especially, feeling guilty about kissing Harry when he’s still unsure because Harry is obviously in love with him.”

“One person can’t possibly feel all of that once,” Ron said. “They’d explode.”

“Just because you’ve got the emotional range of a teaspoon, doesn’t mean we all have,” Hermione said nastily.

“Wait!” Harry’s eyes were wide in confusion. “When did I ever say I was in love with—“

“Harry, we all knew,” Ron and Hermione said simultaneously.

“Wait—no—I mean, I don’t—“

“Sorry for joining in,” Ginny popped up from behind his couch. “But I overheard and Harry, stop your denial before you hurt your brain.”

“Ginny—“

“And I guess congratulation is in order for finally snogged the boy of your dreams.” She turned her head and shouted, “Fred, George! You won  _The Drarry Situation_!”

It was silent for a moment until it broke with yells and shouts.

“PAY UP GUYS!” Fred grinned at the students grumbling to give their galleons.

“Gred, we’re gonna be rich.”

“Sure we are, Forge.”

Katie Bell whined. “Harry, why now? If it’s after Christmas, I’ll be the winner!”

“This is my last galleon,” a seventh year mourned.

Neville however, looked happy enough to give his galleon to George. “Congratulation, Harry!”

Harry himself, was gaping at the madness laid before him. “What, just happened, Hermione?”

“They made a bet about both you and Malfoy,” she answered. “Oh, don’t look at us like that. We didn’t join the bet.”

“Ickle Harrykins finally got his first kiss!” George rubbed the messy dark hair and Harry glared in protest. He had tried to get away from the nth congratulation by the students, but Ginny threatened to sit on his lap and eat his treacle tarts for the rest of the year.

“Remember those times when he was nothing more but a wide-eyed kid, George?” Fred swept the edge of his eye dramatically. “Now he has a boyfriend. I feel so old!”

“Stop it guys!” Harry crossed his arms. “I’m not—we’re not like that!” Pretty sure his face was redder than the Gryffindor colour.

“Straight to the wedding already?” Ginny grinned. “Very bold, Harry.”

“To think that a Malfoy would be in our family,” Fred sighed.

“Well, we’ve prepared for five years. I’m sure we can handle a little bit Malfoy.” George winked. “Am I right, Ickle Ronniekins?”

Ron’s expression was so pained that Hermione rolled her eyes fondly. “Sure we have,” she said and Ron just nodded, resigned.

“See, you’ll always be our little brother—“

“Or older brother,” Ginny interrupted Fred.

“—no matter who you shag with,” George ended with a flourish.

Harry wasn’t sure what happened but his chest felt warm from happiness. “Thanks, everyone.” He smiled, and then remembered. “But I don’t shag Malfoy—“

“Not yet,” Ron mumbled.

“—nor am I in love with him,” Harry pouted.

“Harry, aren’t you absolutely adorable.” George sat on his armchair. “Listen, all your fights with Malfoy? Must be fuelled with something—“

“—like sexual tension—“

“—and ignited such passion—“

“—for five years without an end.” Fred added, “Although now would be in a different situation—“

“—such as in bed—“

“—which reminds me to tell Padfoot to give Harry the talk.” Fred pretended to think. “Maybe we should ask Moony, and also Mum and Dad for support.”

He was absolutely terrified right now. Just to think of Sirius and Remus, giving him  _the talk_  about a man with another man relationship—not that Harry had a relationship with Malfoy—especially with Mr and Mrs Weasley in tow. Nope, never going to happen.

“Well,” Hermione looked up from her parchment. “Will you both going on a date, or not?”

Harry was at the end of his straw. “HERMIONE!”

 

They did go on a date to Hogsmead in February. Harry under the invisible cloak and Draco sneered at everyone who looked at him wrong. It was no surprise that the date ended in a fight which left Draco’s robes in tatters and Harry’s hair as red as the Weasley’s. After a week of sulking, they got back together. Still in secret, because they couldn’t afford those in Slytherin nor Draco’s family to know—never mind that all Gryffindors knew and support them. In fact, most of his friends were cordial around Malfoy—except when he was being a prat.

A huge fight happened when Draco decided to be a spy in Death Eaters, following Snape’s footsteps. Harry was absolutely devastated, angry and worried sick—which Draco felt the same way. When the war ended and Voldemort died, Harry couldn’t help but flung his arms around Draco’s in relief and happiness.

Now, it had been a decade since they were married five years after the war. Harry and Ron were aurors, while Draco became Unspeakable under the lead of Hermione. While they still fought occasionally, but Harry was happy to be with his husband and kids and their extended family.

If Harry was happy, then Ron would just swallow the fact that his best mate married a  _Malfoy_ —though Hermione knew Ron just pretended to be annoyed since Draco was the only person matched his ferocity when playing chess—and Ron wished Harry would stop ranting about Draco to him. Or for them to stop shagging in every surface available.

His poor, poor eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> I almost cried writing Fred and George. It’s so painful.  
> I don't think this is a crack. Maybe slight crack-ish? IDK.
> 
> My [tumblr](http://sacheland.tumblr.com/)!


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